


Friend of the Stars

by chupathingy



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Just you wait - Freeform, M/M, Stars, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:23:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chupathingy/pseuds/chupathingy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every person that was up there was waiting to be discovered. Angels without their wings. But when stars fell, that was a day to mourn. When a star fell that meant it had burned as bright and as beautiful as it could and no longer had anything to offer. It was dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friend of the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. this is from an RP I did on Omegle with this awesome girl called Abby. http://themarauderbandit.tumblr.com/ check her out if you want.

Footsteps echoed through the darkened halls of the enormous mansion as Jim Kirk made his slow way through each corridor, entire body trembling, his feet practically frozen against the chilled wood floor. Bones had offered to let him stay at his family's ranch for his last few days alive (dying certainly sucked), and he loved it there, he really did, the entire place was a dream, Jim just wished that his friend had picked him a better room to sleep in, because he was a bit far from the bathroom. Really, it was nice in the mornings that he slept in because he was feeling too sick, and no light caught the windows, but Mrs. McCoy was a sweet lady, and he didn't want to wake her, or even the doctor every time he crept to the bathroom to throw up. Because he'd been doing that often. And it was right about then, limping down the lightless hallways, and trying his hardest not to breathe too hard, when he felt very much on the verge of passing out, or maybe just collapsing from how /cold/ he was, that Jim was wishing he'd gone home, rather than went with Bones; he was always scolding himself over the fact he wasn't wearing a shirt, and just pajama pants, arms wrapped around his own torso. Yeah, dying sucked.

Bones was woken to creaking in the hall. It was freezing. He stood and turned on the old fashioned heater and waited for his room to warm up. He grabbed his robe and opened the door, sticking his head out and almost running in to Jim, who looked paler than ever. "Damn it Jim, what the hell are you doing?"

Jumping slightly, more than obviously startled, at the sudden appearance of the doctor, he tilted his head in instinct, offering a charming smile, before: "What? What the hell am I--? What're you doing up? I just woke up, and I was wandering the house, y'know... bored. Even Andy was exploring with me. Weren't you Andy?" Reaching behind him, Jim drew one of his shaking hands over the dog's (one of many), who seemed to follow his every movement, head. In fact, he was feeling even more on the verge of death than ever, but that might've been the nausea talking, fever burning on his skin, forcing him to shiver. For a moment, he almost considered admitting to Bones that he wasn't feeling so good-- after the diagnosis, the doctor had been constantly stressing that he tell someone the moment something changed-- almost. "Really, I'm fine. Just wandering."

"Don't lie to me." Bones took off his robe and slung it over Jim's shoulders. "What are you really doing?" He knew Jim wasn't stupid, and that he needed to stop being so reckless, or the inevitable would come sooner than either of them would like.

It was pure impulse, whether Jim really wanted to or not, to grab the robe, tightening it, though it didn't do much to help the shivering, dragging his gaze up towards Leonard-- there was really only one big problem with this entire dying thing, and it was the fact that he was so tired... over the past few days, he'd been sleeping in until dusk, waking up only for a few hours, before passing out again, and that scared him. Walking around the house was becoming an effort, and he sighed, shoulders hunching, as he wrapped his arms around himself-- losing sixth pounds in less than five months had a bad effect on a person, not just physically, but visually, and there were dark bags hanging under his eyes, even past his attempt at a sheepish grin. "I-I... I didn't mean to wake you up, I'm sorry. I was just... going to the bathroom, that's it." Bones had to know that nausea was one of the worst symptoms, he knew that Jim's stomach was often upset, so he wouldn't mind this, right?

"You know I don't mind," Bones said, slinging an arm carelessly around Jim's shoulder. "Come on, pretty boy," he said playfully, "I’ll show you to the bathroom." He knew it wasn't really the time for jokes. But it was how he hid himself. How his hid how actually scared he was in the prospect of losing Jim, how angry and sad and how much pain he was really in. Why should he have all these feelings when Jim was the one dying?

Flinching obviously as the arm hit his shoulders, Jim nearly stumbled, barely just catching himself, and forcing out another smile as he listened slowly to Bones, whose words were beginning to slur together in his mind, nearly tripping again. The walk... the walk had been exhausting, and it was a two minute walk. "Nah, you don't need to do that-- I get that this is your house, and everything, but I'm pretty confident I can find it on my own." The teasing wasn't much of a teasing for him, because he really didn't want Leonard to be there. Seeing him this weak would terrify him, and while it wasn't like Jim was doing too hot at the moment, it was always that much worse after he managed to throw up each morning, "Besides, I've got one of your dogs to show me around, he's got my back."

"Let me at least make sure you get there all right... if something happens to you and I'm not there..." he already felt like most of this was his fault. If he'd stopped letting Jim sneak out of his physicals maybe he'd have caught it sooner. He lay awake every night knowing the blood of one of the people he loved the most was on his hands. He was afraid Jim would die before he'd grow the balls to tell him that he loved him. But it was just the fear. The fear he didn't like to admit to having because well… because... well he didn't know. All he knew is he felt swallowed up by emotion every time he looked into Jim's sunken eyes.

Swallowing back another wave of nausea, Jim nodded faintly, before giving a weak smile. "Of course, right. But you need to sleep, alright? For all the pestering you serve me for staying up all night, you seem to be awake more often than I ever am." It was certainly true, lately, but Jim only focused on forcing his breathing to even out, the littlest things becoming more and more difficult; oh, he'd recognized that look in Bones' eyes. That guilt that he felt was overwhelming, and it took all that Jim had not to lash out at him for being so idiotic, when obviously there was nothing that could've been done. A spike of pain hit his back, and the limping became more obvious, but Jim ignored it. He didn't want to yell at his friend, though, so he kept quiet-- how could he?

"Jim..." Bones decided the trip to the bathroom could wait. Instead, he practically carried Jim into his bedroom and set him on the bed. It was obvious he really wasn't doing well. "Stop this, okay? Just stop it." He was willing his eyes not to get hot, willing the moisture away. It worked... for now. "I need you to tell me how you're feeling. You have to give me something to work with."

Giving something like a whine of protest, and cursing the fact that he was so goddamned light now as he was dragged away, Jim tried to keep up with him, until he was lowered onto the bed, sitting up with a roll of his eyes, before: "Bones, I don't-- oh God, what're you expecting me to say? Oh, I feel more like hell today than I have every other day. I discovered that I have another symptom, just like you said I'd have soon enough. Or, guess what? I'm dying, try not to act surprised, alright? It's okay." Admittedly, the teasing was a bit much, but as he sat there, the pressure of the room shoving him down, so that whatever energy was left inside him was suddenly drained away, all color draining from his face, skin turning a pasty pale, Jim sighed. He didn't mean it. "Look... Bones, I'm sorry, I just-- I don't know what you want me to tell you? I'm in pain, as always, I'm tired, as always, I'm nauseous as all hell right now... as always. So I just... I don't know..."

Bones swallowed thickly. He couldn't help the tears that came to his eyes. He couldn't help the uncontrollable urge to hug Jim and never let him go. He didn't understand. It hurt. Maybe as much as it hurt Jim. "No, I'm sorry,” Bones said, clearing his throat. There was a large lump there, making his voice crack with every syllable. He stood up and put a hand on the wall, trying to stay strong. "I'm so sorry,” he breathed. He sat down next to Jim after finally pulling himself together. "Just... rest here, okay? I'm going to get you something for that pain."

No, this was wrong-- this was wrong, because he was supposed to be the one who was hurting, not Bones. The tears, however, sent Jim over the edge, and he breathed out something incomprehensible, keeping otherwise quiet; he was suffering, sure, but obviously not as much as his friend, and... and how long had he been holding this in? He could see the pain flashing in the doctor's eyes, and when his best friend moved to stand up, Jim moved with agility that he didn't know he still had, standing as well, and enveloping Bones into a hug; he was weak, sure, and it probably wasn't the comfortable, but he tightened his arms, letting his fevered head bury into the crook of his neck. "Don't, Bones-- please, don't. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

He broke. It didn't matter how much time he'd spent gluing himself together, he was still broken. He clutched Jim to his chest and sobbed. He cried for the first time in the three months he'd been trying to treat him. His gut twisted and his stomach lurched. It felt like he'd been stabbed in the chest over and over again. "I don't want you to go," he choked out; it was barely a whisper and his heart throbbed.

Being forced even closer, Jim hardly even spoke a word about it, one hand dancing across his back, eventually tangling into his hair, holding his head comfortingly, "I know," he whispered softly, lips trembling at the mere idea that Bones was this broken, was this obviously torn over it, "I know, and that's okay, I don't want to leave you. But it's alright." Lies spilled from his mouth in an attempt to comfort him, but what else were you supposed to say to someone who was crying into your shoulder? Stroking his head gently, Jim let his head fall, tears nearly falling from his eyes again, one hand grasping at the back of his shirt, attempting his best to soothe him. "Let it out, Bones-- I've got you, alright? Just let it out."

He couldn't do it. He couldn't just watch Jim die. "If I could take your place..." he didn't finish the sentence. Jim didn't need his shit. The poor boy already had enough to deal with on his own. Hell, it had to be hard, expecting your own death, having to accept and know there's nothing you can do or have done for you. He reluctantly pulled away from Jim, making sure his frail body fell back on the pillows as gently as possible. "I’m sorry... I--you don't need this. You go on and go to sleep." He stood and got ready to leave Jim, who was obviously struggling to stay awake. Stay awake for him. The damned kid needed to stop giving so much.

It wasn't so much that he fell as it was that he collapsed, only just barely catching himself to ease himself back onto the pillows, knitting his eyebrows to look at Bones, shaking his head, "Please," he muttered, words almost slurring, "Bones, I don't-- I don't want you to think that... I mean, please, don't leave it there, I don't want you to hold it in. That'll hurt, and Bones... Bones, I don't want to hurt you, I don't care about dying, alright? I don't care about the pain, it's not that bad, don't go. Please, I don't want to hurt anyone, especially you." Letting his hand almost brush against Leonard's hand for a second, only to have it limply drop to his side, sweat drenching his skin in layers, hair clinging to his body; if he didn't relax soon, he'd most likely pass out, but it was worth it. Leaving Bones alone... that terrified him, he didn't want to do that, he never would. He'd felt pain, before, pain from someone leaving, and he didn't want his best friend to feel that... ever.

"It's okay, Jim. I'm okay." Bones smiled. It was forced, but as a doctor he knew how to seem confident, even though he was still picking up the pieces on the inside. The thing was… Jim was leaving, and he have to decide what he was going to do after that happened. Time was running so short... there was absolutely nothing he could do. Nothing. Some nights, after really rough days, he'd go outside. He'd look up at the stars and ask why he'd been chosen. Ask why he had to bear the weight of his own humanity on his shoulders. Other nights he'd sit and feel their crushing gazes. It was like they were angry with him for letting something so good, someone so pure slip through his fingers. It was like trying to catch fog. He knew he could be angry. He knew he could shout and swear at the fates, but when the end actually came, there was nothing he could do but accept it.

"No, you're not," was all that Jim offered, as he turned away, eyes falling over the wall, taking a sudden interest in a certain crack, not wanting, for the life of him, to meet Bones' eyes, cringing. He'd seen someone die, before. They withered away, and it had ached. He didn't want to turn into his mom over this, though, and he ran his hand over his face; he'd been sleeping for nearly three days straight at this point, and yet he still felt exhausted. Shivering, he decided. That wasn't gonna work. "Bones, no you're not, alright? I know you're not, I know that, so stop trying to pretend you are. Let's just... not lie to each other, huh?" Pushing himself up, and then eventually getting to his feet, Jim ran his hands over the robe, trying to warm himself for a second. He felt weak. So weak, and his health was literally degrading by the second. "Let's go outside, or something? I'm bored of lying around all day, or not being able to explore this place with you, like you want. Please, Leo? Unless you're too tired, I just... I don't want to sit around all day."

The truth was, he wanted to die. Now more than ever, but he knew he couldn't. He knew he had to stick through it. There was no way in hell he would ever say it to Jim, but it was true. He smiled. "Yeah. Let's go have a look. See if ol’ Cassie's sitting up in her rocking chair huh?" Jim absolutely refused to use a wheel chair, so Bones mostly just carried him everywhere. He took the thick comforter and wrapped it around Jim and around the bathrobe, before hoisting him to his feet. It was a crisp, cool night. Nice and dry. The country was the best place to go star gazing. With its fresh air and its independence from big bust cities. Perhaps now was the time. Now was the time to tell the dying man he loved him. Or perhaps not, because saying it out loud would make it real, and that would hurt more than anything.

The first sign that Jim decided something was wrong was when he didn't even protest against the blanket that was wrapped around him, even though it made him feel weak, feel... useless. But he didn't argue, simply clutching McCoy's hand for the sake of it, lacing their fingers together, and keeping the comforter around his shoulders with his free hand, knowing that his arm would tire quickly. It didn't matter how hard he was shivering now, he simply smiled at Bones, and nodded encouragingly. "Just in case I trip, I want you to be right next to me. Okay? Okay." Star-gazing. He absolutely loved it, and he took the first couple of steps forward, dragging Bones along with him. He didn't know the way, of course. "You know, my mom used to take me out to see the stars some nights, too. She'd point to each one, and tell me the constellations, and their names, and how far away they are, what solar system surrounded, and eventually, I became an expert. 'They're going to be your best friends someday, my little captain', she used to say." Smiling to himself, Jim hid the spike of agonizing burn that shot through him, biting it back.

Bones coughed. He'd always been afraid of space. Afraid of anywhere he couldn't plant his feel solidly on. They were outside now, sitting in the dry grass, listening to the crickets singing their songs. Bones helped Jim sit, then sat himself. Soon they were both lying flat on their backs looking up at the sky. It was nearly completely dark around them, Bones could barely see the outline of Jim's bundled up body. It was good, because that meant Jim couldn't see the fat tears rolling down his face. Like Jim's mother, his father used to take him out and set him on his knee… tell him all the stories about Orion running from Scorpius, or the two bears that wandered a bit too far. Or even sometimes they made their own stories. His father used to tell him that his grandfather was there, shining bright. He said that every person there was, and every person that would be was up there waiting to be discovered. Angels without their wings. But when stars fell, that was a day to mourn. When a star fell that meant it had burned as bright and as beautiful as it could and no longer had anything to offer. It was dead. All the stories crashed around his head, and he'd barely noticed that he was still holding Jim's hand. He didn't want to let go, but he did anyway, not wanting to seem too needy, not wanting to rely on Jim for anything. He had enough to worry about without the added stress of a washed up Medic.

Everything was cold. He was so cold, and the blanket around him was cold, and the sky looked cold, with stars that once seemed so friendly looking down and twinkling like distant memories, the ground beneath him was cold, and every lingering word in his mind was cold, but the only thing that seemed to be radiating warmth was the thought that he refused to stop nursing, the hand that was clasped to his, until that was gone, too. The moon shone down, and Jim wondered why it was always this way for him-- escape danger, only to fall into a worse problem. He'd get through that, and then something even more horrible would hit. For the longest time, he'd figured that his biggest problem would always be losing someone again. After he'd been diagnosed, even, he'd suffered terrible nightmares, after resigning to the truth that he was actually going to die before Bones, about a coffin being lowered into the ground, and that it'd be his best friend's dead body leaving him forever. That's what would wake him up in the night, but for the first time, there was a piercing stab of utter terror, and the feeling... it put a whole new meaning on the phrase "fear of dying". Honestly, he'd never been one to fear stepping into the unknown and embracing it with courage, but this time... it was so much scarier, and he found himself cuddling against Bones' side, drawing his knees to form a ball, drawing his arm to his chest, and wrapping his hands around the man's palm. "You're warm," he whispered as a response, turning back towards the stars-- oh, he loved those stars.

Bones smiled. His heart thudded in his chest. Yes, now was the right time. Through the fear and the pain and the anger, there was still love. It squeezed him like a vice, comforting him. "Hey Jimmy?" He heard his own voice. It was soft and sad and broken, like he'd already lost someone. He turned over to his side, not expecting Jim to be so close. He was close, though. And even through all the meds and rubs Jim had endured, he still smelled... there was no way to put it but warm. It smelled like everything even worth remembering. Apple pie his mom used to make, his father's cinnamon tobacco. Spicy winter soup his grandmother made him every time he was sick. Yes, now was the time to tell him.

Lifting his gaze back towards his best friend, and ignoring that gentle desperation in the man's voice, Jim offered a weak smile in return; it trembled on his lips, but he hadn't really smiled in forever, arching his eyebrows. He could feel the racing heartbeat, could feel the anxiety rushing off of Bones, and... and Jim found himself growing excited, too. There was something about sitting there, that made him want to never want to let go, never ever want to leave. He wanted to lie there, and relax, because for a moment, the pain seemed gone, and he was relaxed, and just tired, and that's all that was wrong. He was tired... so tired. "Yeah?" Keeping quiet, so that the hoarse edge to his voice couldn't be heard, he sucked in a sharp breath; the night air was cooler than he thought, and before he knew it, he was burying his head into Bones' shoulder (the closest surface), racking coughs echoing in his lungs, the chills growing worse as the fit refused to stop, energy literally seeping away from him. "I'm okay," Jim tried, before Leonard could ask the question. "What'd you need?"

Bones tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He tried to push the tears back. Again. Why did this happen to him? Why couldn't there just be a barrier? Why did he have to feel? He opened his mouth, but all the escaped his lips was a whimper. He coughed once and tried again. "Jim… you know I—ah," his voice cracked more than it had when he was thirteen and going through puberty, "you know I...I." He couldn't get it out. Three words. Three small words that would help Jim understand how he was the most important person in the world, and he couldn't say it. Maybe it was because he didn't want the world to have it. He didn't want to let those special words float into the air, because once he did it would be like letting go of a balloon. It would float up and up and up until he couldn't see it anymore. He sighed deeply and tried to rein himself in. He felt like a tire that had been filled with too much air, ready to burst once it hits the bump in the road.

Something inside him seemed to sink, and he closed his eyes for a moment, returning back up towards him with reddened eyes and a shamed smile, "It's alright," he soothed gently, curling closer, "It's okay, Bones, because I-I... I mean," trailing off, he nuzzled close to him, letting his eyes flutter closed again, soaking in the warmth that his friend was giving off. "Take your time, I want you to relax, okay? I-I... you take your time." Sighing out, he ran a hand over his friend's shoulder, pushing himself up slightly, and smiling gently. God, he loved that man, but seeing him so hurt over this was more painful than anything in the world, painful than the spike aching that shot through his shoulder. "I can't wait to see what your mom's made for breakfast tomorrow-- I've barely tasted her cooking, you know." He was sure Leonard knew, "It's a good thing you've got dogs around."

"Jim, I-I need you to listen." He took a deep breath in and let it out. "You are... you are one of—no, the most important person in my entire world. You always say the right thing and you just know. I don't know how but you know me Jim. And I know this is terrible timing, and I don’t want to hurt you, but you have to know." The tears were falling again, he couldn't do it. He couldn't say it. "I love you," he sucked in a breath and tried not to sob. "I love you so much. I love you. I can't help it. I love you." He couldn't stop stammering, his chest was rising up and down spasmodically as the words were ripped from his chest. "I don't know how I can... if I can,” he stopped. That was too much. It was enough for him to burden Jim with the truth, he didn't need to tell him more than he needed to know.

"Bones-- Bones, hey?" Sitting up, the blanket falling from his shoulders, he pulled the doctor into his arms once again, holding him close, no matter how exhausting that was, carding his hands through his hair again, "It's okay to cry, it's okay-- what you're feeling, it's okay, and-and..." admitting it... that would only hurt his friend, make his death that much harder, but if he didn't? Jim wasn't sure what would happen, and he brushed his lips against the man's forehead. It was funny how he always ended up being the one that comforted people, always ended up soothing them, no matter how much pain he was in himself, and heaving out a sigh, he pulled him even closer, hand running down his back, feeling the doctor's chest collapse with convulsions of sobs, feeling him shaking under his arms, and Jim wanted nothing more in this world than to make it better. That's all he wanted, that's what he'd always done in the past. But this time? He didn't have the energy, the capability, and it stung his throat, swallowing thickly. "I love you too, Leonard McCoy. I love you so much, more than I have ever loved a person in my life, because no one has ever meant more to me, and you've got to-- you've got to remember that, alright? I love you, and I know you so much, more than you know, alright? I know how strong you are, and that's how I know you're gonna be okay. Because I trust you, because I believe you can-- I've never... I love you."

Those words. Those three little words. It made everything easier in a moment. Then he felt them in his chest. Ten pound weights tied around his heart. Sinking. Then he realized something. "I want everything to change." It was a hoarse whisper and he doubted Jim knew what he was talking about. He wanted to be the sick one. He wanted to die, because if he was dying to save Jim kirk... he wasn't really dying at all. He would take it. He would take it all. All the pain, all of the fear and darkness. He would take it all away from the poor withered man and there would be anyone could say to make him regret it. He wanted to save him. He couldn't save him. He was too late.

Faltering for a moment, he sighed out a heavy breath, shaking for a moment, before forcing himself through it, moving him closer, only to pull back to look straight into his eyes, eyebrows knitting. "Yeah, me too," he muttered, a half-smile creeping across his lips, as he pressed another kiss to his forehead, not moving, as he rotated his head so that he wasn't moving too much, the grip against Bones' arms weakening, "I should've told you earlier. I should've let you know how much I loved you, Bones, because... because I'm..." /scared/. Quieting himself before he could even think to say another word, he sucked out a gasping breath of pain, falling backwards as the pain swelling through his back, spiking up towards his shoulders, and then brewing into his stomach, choking out another wheeze, barely catching himself with one arm-- no, damnit. This couldn't happen.

"Jim!" Bones practically screamed. He sat up and bent over Jim, laying his head on the man's chest listening, yearning to hear that little flutter that meant life. "Jim, please. I can't do this," he said putting his hand under the man's nose, trying to feel the breath. "Jim, no. No, no, no, no. Stop it. Stop it now!" He grabbed Jim up into his arms and rocked him. He'd felt it. A tiny breath. A small thud in his chest. "Jim... stay here. Stay with me please. Let me take it from you. Please let me take it from you." Rocking back in forth he whispered. "Just say my name. Or do something. Let me know you're still here."

The human body was a greedy thing. Weak lungs were gasping out for ragged breaths of the sweet night air, his eyelids fluttering as boxed edges of black filled his vision, which was quickly fading in the first place, though his mind was straining at the chance to keep the dimmed light streaming into his already-pulsing mind. For a moment, he grew limp, and the faint thud of what was supposed to be a heartbeat dimmed to a complete stop, all his weight leveling into McCoy's arms, head lolling to the side, glassy eyes shuddered closed. In the broken strands of moonlight, he was a corpse-- not that he'd looked anything better for a while, though this time, his skin was nearly translucent, only paling with a grey tint that contrasted with darkened shadows that stretched across his shallow eyes. And he'd finally stopped trembling. But somewhere deep inside him, life sparked once again, and his previously life-less hands twitched for a moment, shifting only slightly, fingers dancing lightly across his chest, before clutching at the shirt, and pulling tighter, while weak. The words were morphing in his mind. He could hear somebody... someone, familiar, obviously, pleading, calling his name. Why--why would someone be calling? He was fine, he was right there... he was okay, couldn't they see that? Why were they...? The grip tightened, and before he could help it, Jim's eyes had shot open, sobs racking at his entire being, enough pain to kill an entire country surging through his very being, making it hard to move, but that wasn't the point. "Bones," he whimpered, breathing ragged, broken, "Bones-- don't let me... I'm... please?"

Leonard McCoy could only look down in horror. He was frozen. He didn't know what to do. Then he remembered. He remembered being six years old and afraid of the dark. He remembered his father singing to him. "A gentle breeze from Hushabye mountain," now he was no singer, but the tune calmed him as he clutched Jim's impossibly cold body tighter to his chest. "Softly blows over lullaby bay," he was having trouble breathing, it felt like every feeling he'd ever had was clawing at his chest all at once. "It fills the sails of boats that are waiting," he tried to stop the tears that were flowing down his face. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to die. He wanted to go top. "Waiting, to sail your worries away." He bent his head over Jim's and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Take me with you," he pleaded, "don't leave me. Take me with you." He couldn't even finish the damn song. "I love you. I love you, James Tiberius Kirk. Don't you dare forget."

Insides turning to ice as some tight grip nailed at his heart, Jim listened to Leonard's singing, his voice sending vibrations from his mouth, the sound more than comforting, the tears stopping for a moment, as he clung onto him with his one weak hand, attempting a quiet, reassuring look. It faded within seconds, as all fake smiles did. "No, it's okay-- I mean, I get that this is your ranch, and everything, and I'm your best friend, but I'm pretty confident I can find it on my own." Unlatching from his shirt, he reached up, stroking the tears away. "I didn't mean to wake you up... I'm sorry." Was all he whispered, before he couldn't stand the effort that was poured into keeping his arm up, letting that slip away, never taking his gaze from Bones' face, "Remember what I said? I know you, Leonard McCoy, I know you, alright? I know how strong you are, and I'm pretty sure you're gonna be okay. And you know me-- I'm just fine, aren't I?" Something crossed his lips that was a twisted attempt of a smile, eyes tracing the sky, "I can't see my best friends anymore. Are they gone? I-I... I c-can't... see them..." face suddenly convulsing, his back arched with pain, spine rigid, until he began to cough weakly; heavy, tinted eyelids fluttered closed, and this time, there wasn't a spark of life left in him.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down." McCoy was furious. "What do you mean calm down, God damn it? I told you I wanted a plot cleared from trees! He needs to see the stars!" His face was red and he was pretty sure he'd just spit on the bored looking receptionist at the funeral home. "Sir, he's dead, I don’t think--" suddenly he was in her face, close enough to smell her horrid perfume. "Don't you ever fucking say that,” he said, his body visibly shaking with rage. “He needs to see the stars. If you can't do that, I'll take my business elsewhere." The woman stared at him, then got to typing on her computer.

O-o-O-o-O

McCoy sat along on the grassy hill, looking over the small duck pond that was hardly a few feet away. He shivered-- his suit coat did nothing really to protect him from the downright freezing temperatures, but the bottle of bourbon in his hand did. "Why'd you have to do it?" he asked looking up at the stars. "You didn't need him!" He got to his feet and glared at the sky above, pointing down to a grave stone that read JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK: Friend of the Stars "You just took him!" He fell to his knees, his fists pounding the earth. "You didn't need him…” Leonard McCoy was the exact definition of a man who was broken. A man shaven down so slim that only his being was left. His soul had been twisted, shredded by clawed hands, his mind consumed by death. "Why did you take him when you could have had me instead?"


End file.
